<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Prologue: The Freshman Year of John J. Johnson by electribunny</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225863">Prologue: The Freshman Year of John J. Johnson</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/electribunny/pseuds/electribunny'>electribunny</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Check Please Oneshots [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Check Please! (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Prequel, Unrequited Love, Warning!!, pls dont read if you think this could trigger derealization/paranoia/anything like that!, this fic contains a lot of talk about not actually being real</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:35:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,354</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225863</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/electribunny/pseuds/electribunny</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is John J. Johnson. I am 18. I am 21. I am 7. I am 42. It’s four years before the story. The story was two months ago. I am 18. I am 42. I am nothing and everything at once and I technically don’t exist so none of this matters anyway. This is simply a transformative fanwork weaving my story. It isn’t my story. I am 18, I am 42. I serve a purpose and am nothing outside of it. I have come to terms with this. I have not come to terms with this. It doesn’t matter because I am not real. </p><p>--</p><p>We all know that Johnson is aware he is part of a comic, and can break the fourth wall, but what does that really entail? </p><p>I SAID THIS IN THE TAGS BUT IT'S WORTH SAYING AGAIN. THIS FIC CONTAINS A LOT OF TALK ABOUT NOT ACTUALLY BEING REAL. PLEASE DON'T READ THIS IF YOU THINK THAT WOULD TRIGGER YOU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Check Please Oneshots [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Prologue: The Freshman Year of John J. Johnson</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hey, its bee! long time no write. school is kicking my ass. i am so tired all the time. </p><p>anyway, this is an idea i've had for a while, and only just now actually sat down to execute. johnson has always been a really interesting character to me, and it was fun to get to really play around with how he breaks the fourth wall. it was also nice to know that i am still able to write in first person, even if i haven't done it in years and years</p><p>this isn't beta read, so if u see any mistakes, let me know!</p><p>tumblr: lavender-hxney<br/>omgcp blog: bittle-hxney</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>My name is John J. Johnson. I am 18. I am 21. I am 7. I am 42. It’s four years before the story. The story was two months ago. I am 18. I am 42. I am nothing and everything at once and I technically don’t exist so none of this matters anyway. This is simply a transformative fanwork weaving my story. It isn’t my story. I am 18, I am 42. I serve a purpose and am nothing outside of it. I have come to terms with this. I have not come to terms with this. It doesn’t matter because I am not real. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the sake of the narrative, and to keep your head from spinning (as you are much more real than I will ever be, the confusion will last in your head after you close the tab and I once again cease to exist), I will treat the rest of this story as if it is fact, and tell it in a linear fashion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My name is John J. Johnson. I am 18. It’s four years before the story. I’m trying out to get into Samwell’s Hockey Team. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’m going to get in. I know I am. I know the future before it happens and the past is the present is the future. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s rather terrifying, I will be honest. I wouldn’t wish this fate on any of my peers or family even if I could. To know that your reality is fabricated and that you exist only to serve a narrative purpose is something that never leaves you. To know that my mother and my childhood and my best friends don’t actually exist? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’m very grateful for the second life fanfiction has given me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I am trying out for the Samwell Hockey Team, and I know I’ll get in because I need to be there to pass off my room to Bitty. I need to find enough of a home in the team that they offer me dibs in the first place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I know this will all happen. I don’t try to alter the story anymore. Not after what happened the one and only time I tried. I know what happened, I know what will happen, and I know that it’s better for me to do what’s expected of me. So I put all the effort I can into these tryouts even though I know I could allow every single puck to fly past me into the net and I would still join the team anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I made it onto the team. I don’t feel the same sense of accomplishment as my peers. That’s the thing about knowing your whole life before it happens. Nothing makes you proud anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is the first day of school. I am meeting my teammates. My fellow frogs are Eisenhower and Reynolds. Their nicknames are Eiser and Notty. Their first names are Marcus and Jessie, although Jessie introduces herself with a different name. She doesn’t know that she is Jessie yet. I wish I could tell her because she goes through a world of pain during this discovery. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But I don’t try and alter the story anymore. So I let her introduce herself as Lance and I smile and shake her hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m Johnson. We’re going to be best friends. Only in this fictional reality, of course. But you guys don’t know anything about that. Eisenhower, watch your head, that door behind you is going to hit you in about three minutes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh? You’re not making any sense man. I’m not going to get hit, you’ll see.” He scoffed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll see. I’m right. I’m always right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three minutes later, Kerrel (A senior) slams open the door, and clocks Eiser right in the back of the head. He yelps out in pain, then looks up at me in shock. He starts laughing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a shame that he only exists in fiction. Because he really is so damn pretty. And I don’t think any amount of </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing</span>
  </em>
  <span> could prepare me for the moment actually happening, when he puts his arm around my shoulders and says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I guess I learned my lesson. I will never doubt you again. But you, Johnson, you are a strange one.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I try not to let my face flush as he grabs my hand in one of his, and Notty’s in the other, and pulls us toward the ice where the rest of the team is gathering. How are you supposed to react, knowing that you’re going to fall in love with someone? When you know with absolute certainty that this is the man that will make your heart tumble and your stomach flip, what are you supposed to do? I am in love with him because I am going to fall in love with him, and the past is the present is the future.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not going to pick me. I’m not the one in our little trio that he ends up with. I’m going to give a speech at his and Jessie’s wedding where I talk about how honored I was to get to watch their relationship develop, how happy I am for them, even though I wish and wish and wish that he picked </span>
  <b>me</b>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I take what I can get. I squeeze his hand a little tighter and lie and say there’s a good reason for it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The team is kind of dreadfully boring. There’s no need for them to be interesting and 3 dimensional when they are only the prologue to someone else’s story. They have their antics and bylaws and they</span>
  <em>
    <span> are</span>
  </em>
  <span> amusing, but it’s hard to laugh along when I know the jokes are only a lead up to Shitty scribbling rules in the basement in the future. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My time as an upperclassman is my favorite time. I enjoy being a part of their group, even if it is only from a distance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Johnson!” Eiser calls from across the quad and runs through the snow to get toward me. A flake lands on his nose and I can’t help but smile as his eyes cross to look at it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t bother studying for that econ quiz you have. You’re going to get a C on it no matter how hard you try. Professor Banks is going to forget to enter it into the grade book anyway, so it won’t pull your grade down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hello to you too Johnson.” He laughs but begins walking with me. He’s gotten used to my antics as the semester has continued on. Most of the team has. “So, watcha thinkin’ about? Doing some good old fashioned Johnson future seeing?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m thinking about Jack and Bitty. And Ransom and Holster. And Shitty and Lardo. Chowder too, actually. He’s debating whether he should take AP or normal biology when he gets into high school. He’ll end up taking normal, although, between you and me, he would’ve gotten a 4 on the AP test.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“J, I don’t know who any of these people are.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll meet most of them. Not Bitty or Chowder though. You’ll never meet Nursey either, which is a little unfortunate, you two would get on like a house on fire.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How old is he?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right now, he’s 12, and in middle school.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna hang out with 12-year-olds? They are some of the least chill people on the planet.”  I laugh at that, but he has no idea why. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I am so lonely. No one else understands why this is funny. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, fix your hat. Notty is coming.” His face flushes, and he goes to fix his hat. My heart hurts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I look good?” He asks, turning to me. He looks amazing. I love him so much. I could grab his coat right now, pull him into a kiss, get him to choose me over her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But I don’t. I don’t try and alter the story anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Notty comes up to us. “Johnson! Eiser! Hey!” She’s terrified. I wish I could let her know that things are going to be fine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Notty! Hey, what’s up?” Eiser laughs, and I try to stop my eyes from tracking the movement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing much. Um, I. I was just wondering, do you guys have time for Annies? I’ve got something I need to tell you guys.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” I answer for him. I know he actually doesn’t have time for Annies, but this is part of the story. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That is my whole purpose after all. I exist to continue a narrative. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We slide into a booth. She stares at us and takes a deep breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry guys, I just, I really don’t know where to start.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I figure we’re close enough to the actual event that I can give her a little nudge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Take your time Jessica. I know you’re nervous, but it’s going to go better than you ever imagined. You’ll see.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck.” She mumbles under her breath. “Well, Johnson, I supposed you’ve always known, haven’t you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t tell you. This is something you needed to figure out on your own.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re right.” She sighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, dudes, only one of us has psychic powers, so you gotta tell me what the hell is going on. And who the fuck is Jessica?” Eiser chimes in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s me. I’m Jessica. Marcus, I’m trans.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I watch as he takes a few seconds to process this information. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Oh, wow! That’s...wonderful! Thank you so much for telling us!” He looks relieved. I know why. The reason hurts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m really glad that went well.” She sighs. “Well, now that you guys know, I was wondering what I should do about-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go home for Thanksgiving. Your family will be just as accepting as we are. Your mother will cry, she always secretly wanted a daughter. Jake will be a bit of an asshole, but you never liked him anyway, did you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...No. No, I never did like him anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Johnson, doesn’t your head hurt? I think I would have like a forever headache if I knew the future like you did. Don’t you get things mixed up?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just like that, we are back to normal. I’m glad. I like seeing them happy, even if we don’t actually exist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kerrel gave me his dibs. I knew he would. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think you know what’s coming. Fuckin’...weird brain shit. That always did creep me out.” He said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s only official if you shake on it.” I smile up at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were a good little frog, even if I don’t understand you at all. Think you deserve it, after your help with Maria earlier.” He shakes my hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll miss having you around.” I lie. I can’t wait until Jack and Shitty arrive. But it’s harmless to say otherwise, and it makes him feel better about giving his dibs to me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You too, little man.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walks away, and I sit down on the couch. I’m one step closer to fulfilling my narrative purpose. It feels bad. I’m glad I don’t actually exist. I’m glad the past is the present is the future. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I go to sleep dreaming of Eric Bittle’s pies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Johnson, what are you even getting your degree in?” Notty asks. I am sitting in the reading room. Eiser and Notty are with me. Kerrel’s things are out of his room, and my stuff is sitting in boxes. It’s three days before summer break. I’m going to stay in the Haus over the break. My mother was a little upset when I told her, but she isn’t real anyway. Samwell is as close to reality as am I going to get. I feel like I’m floating around without a tether when I leave. Without a connection to the main story, I feel lost. Samwell gives me a sense of purpose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, actually. I’ll figure it out.” I don’t tell them that it doesn’t matter what I major in. That after Eric Bittle is given my bedroom my purpose is fulfilled. I think that’s why I latch onto Chowder. He keeps me in existence, answering my texts, even if it isn’t part of the main narrative.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I resent Bitty, a little bit. If it weren’t for him, I might live my life in blissful ignorance of my role in his story. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Actually, I just wouldn’t exist at all. Not even in fragments or fiction. I suppose I should be thankful for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should be a PoliSci major, then we could get jobs together!” Eiser chimes in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That sounds fun,” I say, but I know it won’t happen. Notty’s phone goes off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my Uber is here! Goodbye, guys. I’ll really miss you over the summer. Make sure to text, okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” I reach over to hug her. “Of course. Have a great summer.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bye, Jessie.” Eisenhower clings to her. Then, she gets up and heads back in through the window. She waves at us one final time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Johnson?” Eiser asks. I know what is coming. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ask her.” I try to ignore the tears that pool in my eyes. “She’ll say yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She will?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. And it’s going to be beautiful. This is the start of something great.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, nothing is quite as solid as the Johnson blessing.” He hugs me. I hold him as tight as I can. I am looking for comfort in the arms of the person who is hurting me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Jessie! Wait up!” He runs after her. I can see them from my perch on the roof. I look away. I know they are embracing. I know they’re kissing. I press my face into my knees and cry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My name is John J. Johnson. I am 19. It’s three years before the story. The past is the present is the future. I am 18. I am 42. I am nothing and everything at once. The story was 2 months ago. My name is John J. Johnson. I don’t try and alter the story anymore. I am 18. I am 42. The past is the present is the future. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I don’t exist. He doesn’t exist. I love him anyway. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>